by White, Gwynn
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
A definite pause. “That you’re a moron of note, sire,” Zarot said in a monotone voice. “And that I’d like to shove your head right up your ass, sire.”
The voices cackled.
The scar on Lukan’s cheek throbbed. He gripped the desk to stop himself flying across it to punch Zarot.
Nahom shifted.
Had the man heard all that? “Out. Now,” Lukan bellowed. It was bad enough that he had to listen to Zarot’s insults. He didn’t need Nahom hearing them, too.
Nahom bowed and backed out of the room.
Lukan waited until the door closed, then snarled, “Are you mocking me?”
“No, sire. You asked what I’m thinking. I have no choice but to speak the truth.”
That was infinitely worse.
Lukan fumbled for his buttons. He twirled the last one furiously. Was Zarot the only high-born who still had his wits about him but was forced to obey?
“Who else is like you? And make sure you tell me exactly what you’re thinking.”
Another pause.
Was Zarot fighting with himself to control his words? Lukan leaned forward expectantly.
Finally, Zarot said, “No one, sire. I am a perfectly unique individual. As are you. You’re a murderous savage, and I’m a double-crossing spy.” More drool collected at the corners of Zarot’s lips. “I still think that makes me the better person.”
“Never a truer word was spoken. Heed it well, Lukan.”
“I don’t have to listen to you.” Lukan jerked out of his chair and scrambled across the desk. “Or him.” He swung a punch at Zarot’s face.
It connected with a crunch.
Zarot’s head shot back, spraying blood from his nose onto Lukan’s shirt.
He fell back on his haunches in disgust. “You dare bleed on me? Is it not enough that you insult me every time you open your mouth?”
“I merely do as I am commanded, sire.”
“Then take this command. When Axel Avanov enters my palace, you are to slit his throat.”
Zarot’s blank face registered no emotion.
That meant nothing. The walls in this office had shown more animation during Zarot’s life than Zarot had. It’s what made Zarot such an effective double-crossing spy. “And what will make him useful now.” Still crouched on the desk, he rubbed his hands together. “Tell me what you’re to do to Axel Avanov.”
A moment of silence. Then Zarot’s chin dropped to his chest. “I am to slit his throat.”
He spoke so softly, Lukan had to lean in to hear. “Louder. Shout it out so everyone in my palace hears you.”
Zarot lifted his head and yelled, “I am to slit his throat!”
“Not loud enough. Again.”
“I am to slit his throat!”
“Again.” This was fun.
“I am to slit his throat.” Zarot sounded hoarse.
How long would he continue obeying? Only one way to find out. “I still can’t hear you.”
“I am to slit his throat.” This time it came out as a croak.
“One more time. What are you to do when Axel Avanov steps into my palace?”
Zarot opened his mouth, but nothing but a gurgle came out of it.
Lukan slid back to make space on the desk. “Write it with your finger.”
Hand shaking, Zarot scrawled the words onto the wood.
“Not good enough. Write them so the letters face me.”
Zarot’s finger traced the I. It stopped. He frowned down at it.
Lukan gasped. For the first time in all the years he’d known Zarot, the double-crossing spy was showing genuine emotion, born out of concentrated effort. Breath held, Lukan waited for Zarot’s next move.
Infinitely slowly, Zarot’s finger transposed the a. The other letters followed.
With each one, Lukan’s heart soared.
Zarot may have been able to think, but he couldn’t act on those thoughts. If Zarot could, Lukan’s head would have been firmly wedged up his own backside by now.
The voices laughed openly.
It was so loud, even Zarot must have heard them.
He glowered at Zarot.
The double-crossing spy’s face revealed nothing.
“What does it matter?” he shouted at both Zarot and the voices. Zarot had proved that his high-born would still obey his commands. “I’ve a victory to celebrate and nothing is going to stop me enjoying it.” He pounded the desk in front of Zarot. “One last time, tell me what will happen to Axel Avanov.”
“I am to slit his throat.”
“Good. Don’t forget it.” Lukan sat back on his haunches. “Now, why did you come here?” He gripped his chin, trying to remember why Nahom had brought Zarot to this office.
“I don’t know, sire,” Zarot replied.
“Hmm.” Lukan looked around for the voices.
The cowards were hiding.
As usual.
Still, he asked, “Do you remember why he’s here?”
“As if we’d tell you.”
“Bastards.” He worked the remaining button on his waistcoat. “Maybe Nahom knows.” He pulled in a startled breath. “Of course he does.” He ripped the button off and tossed it away.
It bounced across the floor, only stopping when it hit the far wall.
“You didn’t deserve that button,” he told himself.
“But it’s mine and I want it.” He slid across the desk and jumped down to get the button.
“If you aren’t careful,” he told himself. “The old man will beat you.”
He scrambled back up onto the desk. His father had hated whining petulance. Much safer to stare at the button.
It really was beautiful.
So silver. So shiny.
He loved shiny things. That’s why he’d loved Lynx. She was the shiniest thing he’d ever seen. His groin still hurt when he thought about her.
“Don’t think,” he told himself sternly. “Never think. Thinking is dangerous. Thinking—” He looked up at Zarot. “Why are you here?”
“I don’t know, sire.”
Lukan waved a hand at him. “Go.”
Zarot pushed back the chair and stood. When Zarot turned his back on him, he gulped. Zarot’s back was crisscrossed with scars. “Who beat you?”
“Morass, sire.”
“Oh. Him. He’s dead. Did you know that?”
“No, sire.” Zarot shuffled across the room. That was good because it meant he was obedient.
Lukan called to him, “Bring me that button.”
Zarot changed course. When he stooped to pick up the button, his knees creaked.
Lukan blocked his ears as Zarot lumbered back.
Zarot held the button out to him.
He took it and clasped it to his heart. He crooned to it, “So shiny. So shiny.” The pressure of eyes watching him made him look up.
Zarot stared at him.
“Go away. This is mine. You can’t have it.”
“Yes, sire.”
Button clutched to his chest, he watched Zarot to make sure he didn’t try and steal the button from him.
Zarot opened the door. Nahom waited outside it. He bowed to Lukan.
Lukan blinked. Hadn’t Nahom suggested that he ask Zarot about… He rolled the button in his hand. It didn’t help him remember. He sighed. “Nahom, why was Zarot here?”
Nahom stiffened. “Ah… to tell us about the Pathfinder Alliance’s resources, sire.”
“Of course. How could I forget?” Something dug into Lukan’s palm. He opened his hand.
A button?
He frowned at it before tossing it onto the desk—a desk he was crouched on.
How humiliating.
His face flushed as he scrambled off it and sat in the chair. How he’d gotten on top of the desk, he didn’t know. The heat chilled as he blanched.
Was he descending into madness?
Not willing to entertain the idea, he snapped, “Zar
ot, tell me everything you know about the Pathfinder Alliance. How big is it? What equipment do they have? Everything you know.”
Zarot swayed on his feet.
“I forbid you to sway.”
Zarot’s hand shot out to grip the wall. He used it to prop himself up. A telling pause. “There are ten thousand soldiers in the alliance, sire,” Zarot murmured.
Lukan could hardly believe his ears. “Is that all?”
“Yes, sire. Life in the mines is tough. The attrition rate has been high.”
“Serves the bastards right for fighting against me. Will all those soldiers come to Cian?”
Zarot shrugged. “I don’t know Axel’s plans, sire. All I can tell you is that he has more mercenaries than homegrown soldiers who fight for freedom.”
Time to test Zarot. But how? His eyes widened with memory. “What are you going to do with Axel when he arrives here?”
“I am to slit his throat.”
“Good. How many homegrown soldiers does he have?”
The longest pause yet. Lukan saw no signs of Zarot’s inward struggle to defy his commands. He wished he did. “Tell me how many homegrown soldiers he has and show me how you feel about betraying Axel.”
Zarot’s mask shattered. His face twisted, and his eyes widened. They were as stark—as stricken—as Rosina Pavel’s had been when she watched Natalia attempt to murder her son.
So his high-born had some control over their features. Interesting.
Zarot’s voice pulled him back from his musings. “He has three thousand soldiers, sire.”
Lukan threw his head back and laughed. So much for Dmitri’s claim about numberless hosts of men. “Oh Dmitri, you think you can play me for a fool. Your whole curse is a joke.” To Zarot, he said, “More. Tell me more. What weaponry do these three thousand have?”
Zarot sobbed. His shoulders shook, and real tears flowed down his grimy cheeks.
Lukan rubbed his hands together. “Come now. Don’t hold back.”
“Shotguns, sire,” Zarot whispered.
“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”
“Shotguns, sire.” Another sob racked Zarot. “And… and incendiary balls.” A long pause. “And airships, sire.”
Lukan sat bolt upright. “Airships? How is that possible? I destroyed his entire fleet. Are you lying to me?”
“No, sire.” Zarot’s head hung. “You didn’t destroy all of it. He has thirty stealth craft under his command.”
Lukan gripped his throat. What had Dmitri said? Death in all her cryptic beauty flies. From bowels unnumbered Wraiths as black as night discharge. Axel could sneak into the palace unawares. Before he knew it, Nicholas would be at his bedchamber door.
“No,” he told himself. “That won’t happen. Even if he tethers all thirty ships above my roof, my guardsmen will never let them get that close.”
“What if they failed you?”
Why did those benighted voices always play on his worst fears? And what else had Dmitri said? Something about danger coming from the flank. He fumbled for his buttons but found none. His fingers clawed his waistcoat tight around him.
“You know Axel,” he croaked to Zarot. “You know how he fights. Will he send Nicholas to attack me head on?”
“Unlikely, sire,” Zarot whispered.
“Tell me more,” Lukan snapped.
Another sob tore through Zarot. “He will always use stealth. It’s his trademark, sire.”
Nahom cleared his throat. “With your permission, sire, may I ask a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Will he use diversionary tactics with that stealth?”
Lukan grunted, surprised at Nahom’s insight. Then again, he did head up Battle Command.
Zarot didn’t reply.
“Answer him,” Lukan shouted.
“Yes, sire,” Zarot said dully.
“Yes to what?” Nahom asked.
“Just… yes.”
Lukan clutched his waistcoat. Dmitri’s verse made perfect sense. While Axel’s three thousand spilled from their airships to attack the palace, Nicholas would be sneaking in unnoticed. Lynx would never let him come alone. And Axel’s actions over the last years had shown that he never let Lynx out of his sight. They would come together to attack him.
He swallowed.
His only hope was to hide. The only place he could think of where he would be safe was in the bunker he’d built under the palace for the Dragon’s Fire burning that never happened. It was stocked with tin cans of food and enough water to survive a month-long siege.
The only person apart from him who knew about the bunker was Felix. It was possible that he had told Axel about it, but not even Felix knew where Lukan had hidden the switch to open the first layer of secrecy hiding the bunker.
He hadn’t been in that bunker since the Dragon’s Fire… incident.
“You mean failure?”
“It wasn’t a failure. I merely changed my mind.” He still had the trigger to his fleet of stealth airships embedded in his side. He stroked his waistcoat with gentle fingers. Any meaningful pressure and those airships would circle the world, dropping instant death.
“That’s a last resort,” he muttered to himself. “A bargaining chip I can use if I’m cornered.” To Nahom, he said, “I’m leaving you in charge of palace defense. Make sure Axel’s three thousand troops die before they leave the palace grounds.” He gestured to Zarot. “He will come with me.” He couldn’t resist a smile. “Zarot, what are you to do when Axel arrives in my palace?”
“I am to slit his throat.”
“Then Nahom had better get you a blade.” As Nahom turned to obey, Lukan added, “Axel Avanov is a slimy fish. Best give him a rifle, too.”
Nahom returned with the weapons. He strapped the dagger to Zarot’s waist. Next, he slung the rifle across Zarot’s ravaged back. Standard Chenayan issue, it was equipped with the One Bullet, One Weapon system. Zarot wouldn’t be able to fire it without Lukan or Nahom’s permission.
Sadly, instead of shedding more tears, Zarot merely winced.
“Follow me,” Lukan said curtly. “You will remain with me until Axel is dead. Then I might just consider putting you out of your misery. Permanently.”
He left Battle Command and walked through the palace to his archive. Once inside it, he pressed his side, opposite to where the Dragon’s Fire trigger had been embedded. A section of wood paneling slid open to reveal a heavy steel door. It required an eye scan.
He peered into the scanner, and the door slid open. Once both he and Zarot were inside, he flashed his eye at another scanner. The door slid closed.
A second door barred his path. This one required a password. He scowled as he said into a recorder, “Lynx of Norin, Empress of Chenaya and wife and lover of Lukan Avanov.”
He had set that password in the heady days when he’d believed that Lynx would live with him in this bunker. He’d change the password as soon as he had a private moment away from Zarot’s prying ears.
The door opened. He stepped into the bunker. It smelt musty. Hardly surprising. No one had been here for over a year. Zarot followed him. He spoke the same password, and the door closed, shutting them off from the world.
It was time to hunker down until all of this was over.
Twenty-Four
The Book Of Chenaya
Lynx had just entered the first spiral in the stairs to the Cascades when the all-clear sounded.
The knot in her stomach cleared.
The rescued children had to be safe within the mines.
The knot was replaced by gnawing sadness. No doubt the alliance had lost troops in that campaign. Blue, Nao Woo, and Hinge were close friends with Clay. That was probably why he’d called on them to help. Axel was unlikely to have sent any more of their true defenders out to fight Xipal. That didn’t change much. The mercenaries were just as important to her.
She was halfway down the stairs when her informa vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out and flicked
it to voice mode.
“Where are you?” Axel. He sounded worried. “Blue, Nao Woo, and Hinge came through Hatch Seven ages ago. I tried to call you but you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry, I didn’t feel my informa vibrate.” She’d probably been speaking to Cricket at that time. “I’m heading to Battle Command to find you. Cricket was here. She’s given Nicholas a book. I’ve sent Clay to find out what it’s all about.”
“All thanks to the pantheon,” Axel replied. “I just hope it helps. You know what the dead are like.”
“Yes, I do. They usually come through just fine.”
He snorted. “Right, my Lynxie. You keep on believing that.”
“How many did we lose?” She had to ask. “And did we get Xipal.”
“No to Xipal. Bastard is still out there. And our hospital wing is stuffed with his injured Blades.”
That wasn’t good news.
“As to our losses. Five dead. Fifteen wounded. Nothing so serious that it will tax the medical wing.”
She sent a prayer to the Winds to claim the spirits of all the dead, regardless if they were friend or foe.
“Any of the children killed or injured?”
“Only the ones who chose to fight. I’m hearing reports of up to two hundred.” He sounded bleak. “A burial detail will go out tomorrow.”
She almost fell over her feet. “That many wanted to fight?”
“These are not children in the way we understand them to be, my Lynxie,” Axel said gently. “Xipal scrapped the underbelly of the world to find his army.”
Intellectually she knew that. The urchins they had met in Cian had been typical of the boys Xipal had recruited.
They’d kill for a scrap of bread.
But her heart said something different. Dip and his gang had also helped them find Nicholas.
Despite her heart, she had to be pragmatic. “Where are they? And do they pose a risk to Nicholas?”
“What kind of idiot do you take me for, my Lynxie?”
She grinned. “Do you really want an answer?”
He sniggered. “No thanks.” His laughter faded. “I gave instructions for them to be housed in Dark Cave until we figure out what to do with them. Some will stay in the hospital wing until morning.”
